"And to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Luna?"
I can hear Caspian's voice through my laptop speakers, dripping with that condescension I've come to hate so much. He can't get any less annoying, can he? Even now, even facing Luna in the middle of the night, he still thinks he's in control.
"We need to talk, Mr. Caspian. We have a lot to catch up on, don't you think?"
Luna's voice is sweet. Too sweet. The kind of sweet that comes before violence.
I can hear them talking through the security feed. He's so arrogant, standing there in my living room—the living room where he's hurt me so many times—like he owns the place. Like he owns me.
I wish I could wipe that smirk off his face with a punch. But I can't. I'm here, safe in Luna's hotel room, wrapped in her silk robe, watching through cameras while she does what I've been too scared to do for over a year.
Well, he has no idea what's coming at him. Neither do I, honestly. I know Luna. I know she's capable of violence. We've done this together before—avenged women who the legal system failed. But I've never seen her this angry. Never seen her this focused.
"What brings you here, Miss Luna?" Caspian asks, and even through the grainy security footage, I can see the smug expression on his face.
How can someone's face be such a pain? How can someone look so punchable? I could literally kill this guy.
Oh wait. Luna can do that for me.
"We are about to find out," she says calmly.
Then, in one smooth motion, she takes off both of her red Louboutin heels—those expensive, beautiful, deadly heels—and swings them at his head.
Both heels. One after the other. Sharp points connecting with his skull with sickening thuds.
The first one hits his temple. The second catches him on the other side. Blood immediately starts flowing from the wounds.
Caspian drops like a stone, his drink shattering on my hardwood floor. His body crumples, completely unconscious before he even hits the ground.
"Damn," I breathe, leaning closer to the laptop screen.
The blow must have been hard enough to knock him out completely. Luna doesn't waste any time. She signals to Marc, who's been standing just outside the frame, and together they get to work.
I watch, mesmerized, as they strip him down to his underwear. Marc holds him steady while Luna binds his hands behind his back with rope—the same kind of rope Caspian used on me so many times. The irony isn't lost on me.
They drag him to one of my dining room chairs and tie him securely. Wrists bound to the chair back. Ankles tied to the chair legs. He's not going anywhere.
Then they wait.
Luna pulls on black leather gloves—the kind that leave no fingerprints. She flexes her fingers, testing the fit, then settles into another chair across from Caspian's unconscious form.
Marc takes a position by the door, arms crossed, silent and watchful.
And they wait.
I check the timestamp. Five minutes pass. Then ten.
Finally, Caspian starts to stir. His head lolls forward, then jerks up. His eyes flutter open, unfocused and confused.
"Took you long enough," Luna says conversationally, as if they're having tea instead of whatever this is about to become. "The sleep must've been nice, huh?"
Caspian tries to move. Realizes he can't. His eyes widen as he takes in his situation—nearly naked, tied to a chair, blood dripping down his face, Luna sitting across from him wearing gloves.
You must be wondering why she has gloves. Well, hate to break it to you, but this is not the first time we've done this. This is not the first time Luna has tortured someone who hurt someone we love.
We cause trouble together. We always have. Add Darcy to the mix and that's pure, unfiltered chaos.
But this time, Luna's alone. And somehow, that makes it more terrifying.
"Well, well, Caspian," Luna says, her voice casual, almost bored. "It's time to talk business."
There's a dangerous glint in her eyes—the one that scares even grown-ass men. The one that says she's done playing nice. The one that says someone is about to suffer.
Well, it's about to go down. I'm about to watch the most beautiful movie of my life.
Caspian tries to wiggle out of his restraints, pulling at the ropes, trying to shift the chair. It's useless. As useless as a fork in a soup competition, as Luna would say. The knots are tight. Professional. He's not going anywhere.
Without warning, Luna stands and slaps him across the face. Hard.
So hard that his head snaps to the side. So hard that he closes his eyes tight from the impact and has to blink several times to clear his vision.
His lip splits. Blood flows. I think she might have broken his jaw in the process, from the way he's working it, trying to speak.
Who beats people up without telling them why they're assaulting them? Who just sits down, waits for someone to wake up, and then immediately starts the violence without explanation?
Luna Nia Muriithi, that's who.
Due to the "man" he thinks he is, Caspian is just groaning. Most cowardly men would be screaming by now. Most would be begging. But he's still trying to maintain some dignity, some control.
That won't last long.
"Can you tell me why the fuck you are assaulting me?" he finally manages to ask through his split lip. "And why am I naked?"
"Now we are talking," Luna says, adjusting her gloves with deliberate slowness. "I'm here to discuss Rielle. And to answer your second question—you are about to find out."
She reaches into the pocket of her leather coat and pulls out a small plastic bag. Opens it. Pulls out several wooden clothespins—the kind used for hanging laundry.
"What about her?" Caspian asks, and I want to reach through the screen and strangle him myself.
How the hell does he even have the audacity to ask such questions when he knows exactly what he's done to me? When he knows exactly why Luna is here?
But Luna doesn't answer his ridiculous question. Instead, she takes the clothespins and, without ceremony, without warning, clips them onto his nipples.
Through his undershirt, but it doesn't matter. The pressure is immediate.
Caspian hisses in pain, his body jerking against the restraints.
Which only makes Luna twist the clothespins, adjusting them, pressing at the tips to make them clip tighter. Tighter. Tighter.
He finally screams.
Oh God, that sound. That sound is the most satisfying thing I've heard in months.
Luna holds the position for what feels like forever. I check the timestamp—four minutes. Four full minutes of constant pressure while Caspian screams and begs and apologizes for things he won't even specify.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll do anything! Please!"
But Luna doesn't know how to express herself with words. She's never been good at confrontation through conversation. So she's waiting. Waiting for him to admit what he's done without her having to ask questions and "tire her vocal cords," as she says. I always wonder how that has anything to do with anything. But that's Luna. That's her process.
When Caspian stays quiet—when his apologies remain vague and meaningless—Luna signals to Marc.
"Put him on the table. Face down."
I sit up straighter, my heart pounding. I'm so ready for what's going to happen next.
Marc unties Caspian from the chair and, with surprising gentleness, helps him stand. Then, less gently, forces him face-down onto my dining table.
Luna produces more rope and they secure him there—wrists tied to table legs on one side, ankles to legs on the other. He's spread out, vulnerable, completely exposed.
The unexpected happens.
I thought Luna would beat him with a whip or a belt. That's what we usually do. That's the pattern.
But she has other plans.
She reaches into her coat pocket again and pulls out something that makes my eyes widen.
A dildo.
Black, thick, at least eight inches long.
"What the fuck—" Caspian starts.
Luna doesn't let him finish. She yanks down his underwear and, without hesitation, without mercy, without lubricant, shoves the dildo into his ass.
All the way.
In one brutal thrust.
Caspian screams so loud that I have to rip my headphones off. Even with the volume turned down, even through the laptop speakers, the sound is deafening.
I can feel the pain through the screen. The violation. The helplessness.
Good. Now he knows how I felt. Every single time he forced himself on me.
I put the headphones back on, not wanting to miss anything.
Luna leaves the dildo buried inside him and reaches for something else. A whip. Where she got that from, I have no idea. She must have brought it with her, hidden in that leather coat.
Oh, and when I say whip, I don't mean the tiny decorative ones used in bedroom activities. No, this is industrial. Heavy. Made of rubber and leather. The kind that leaves scars.
She brings it down on his back.
CRACK
The sound echoes through my house. Blood immediately wells up from the impact site.
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
She whips him again and again and again. Blood sprays across my walls, my floor, my furniture. The white walls I just repainted last month are now decorated with red streaks.
Caspian is crying now. Actually crying. Tears and snot running down his face, mixing with the blood from his split lip.
Remember, the dildo is still inside him. With every movement, every flinch, every scream, it shifts. Causing more pain.
"Okay! Okay, I'll talk!" he finally screams. "Please! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
Luna stops. Steps back. Waits.
This is what she's known for. Luna's tortures are well-known by those who have gone through them. She tortures without asking questions until the person being tortured starts talking all by themselves. Confessing. Begging. Breaking.
It's usually men, mostly. Men who think they're strong. Men who think they can withstand anything.
They're always wrong.
And Caspian starts talking.
He admits everything.
"I hurt her. I hurt Rielle. I hit her when she disobeyed me. I raped her when she refused sex. I tied her up and forced myself on her. Multiple times. So many times I lost count."
I have to mute the audio. I can't listen to this. Hearing him describe what he did to me in such casual, matter-of-fact terms—it's too much. It's painful to listen to what he's done to me.
But I watch. I keep watching.
He admits to things I didn't even tell Luna about. Making me sleep outside on the porch when I "disrespected" him. Destroying my belongings when I didn't answer his calls fast enough. Threatening my family. Isolating me from my friends.
It's even worse that he knows what he did was wrong and he still did it anyway. He knew. The whole time, he knew. And he didn't care.
My heart can't take it. Tears are streaming down my face, but I can't look away.
After he's done talking—after he's confessed everything, his voice hoarse from screaming—Luna walks over to where I have a security camera hidden in a smoke detector.
She looks directly at it.
Takes off her blood-splattered mask.
Winks.
And blows me a kiss.
Then she puts on a new mask—a fresh one from her pocket—since the previous one was covered in blood.
She knew. She knew I was watching the whole time. No wonder she didn't jam the security cameras. No wonder she positioned herself so I could see everything.
She wanted me to see. Wanted me to witness him paying for what he did to me.
Psycho therapist. That's what we call her. And I know you agree that she's evil, right? Beautifully, perfectly evil.
She calls someone on her phone. I can't hear the conversation through the muted audio, but I can read her lips enough to know she's calling Darcy.
Our evil doctor.
While Luna is the psycho therapist, and I'm the lawyer from hell.
The three of us together? Pure chaos. Pure justice. Pure revenge.
And Caspian just became our latest project.